


Master Of The Grey

by Nava Nella Bana (AViewerLikeMe)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Movie: Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 16:30:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17389784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AViewerLikeMe/pseuds/Nava%20Nella%20Bana
Summary: "What ARE you?" "I am darkness and light. I am balance. I am grey." An AU ROTS Oneshot. An early chance at redemption we all wish Anakin had.





	Master Of The Grey

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is the first good Star Wars story I ever wrote, and there is more to come. This includes an OC, an aspect I enjoy including in my writing, but won't come up in every story. Let me know what you all think!
> 
> Disclaimer: NOTHING, I OWN.

**Master Of The Grey**

 

ø

 

She is a new addition to the council for two weeks when they cross paths.

Details of the new Jedi Master are shrouded in mystery. Windu won't speak of her, Yoda won't speak of her, nor will any of the other Masters. A simple announcement during a council meeting sufficed. She was not present; already she was completing a mission elsewhere. "Master Santhie Solam." The name sounds slippery, uncontrolled between his tongue and teeth, like it could slink out past his lips and fall to the floor. He doesn't know her credentials, her appearance, her story, or her mission. He asks these questions and gets the common philosophical form of "Don't ask questions." If the will of the Force says she deserves to be a Master so soon, then so be it. He just wants to know something more about her, this stranger who deserves so much in so little time.

He walks through the Grand Corridor and feels her before he sees her. When he looks up, she is staring right back at him.

Her black boots make the smallest sound as they make their way purposefully through the hall. Underneath her brown outer robe is synthetic leather, like his. Her gloved hands are clasped together in front of her. Her black hair is loosely tied back, but the side part in her hair allows strands to partially cover her face. A fresh scab rests at the corner of her obsidian lips. Her eyes, shimmering somewhere between black and grey, are facing his with a leveled, serene gaze.

At some point, both have stopped walking. It looks like a standoff and feels like a test.

"Master Solam," he greets, leaning forward in a half-bow.

The corners of her mouth lift. "Master Skywalker," she replies, bowing similarly.

The title throws him off. "Y-you are mistaken, I am not a-"

"In truth," she interrupts calmly, her smile playful. "You walk like one before you become one."

In spite of himself, he smiles back.

It _is_ a test, and he's passed.

 

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She is often abroad on missions unspoken, or said to be meditating in random rooms in the temple. Twice, he catches her entering after a period of absence, and she greets him the same way: "Master Skywalker," when no one is looking. He has not corrected her again. In council meetings, she sits cross-legged and unblinking, childlike in her demeanor. Except when prompted to speak.

Today, the Council is touching a sore subject; their suspicions of Chancellor Palpatine.

"We mustn't look auspicious in our dealings," one voice said.

"We must be discreet," Windu answered. "Until we are sure of what we believe, no one else can know."

"But how can we be sure?"

"We may have to keep an eye on him ourselves. There are too many in the senate loyal to Palpatine."

"Suggesting we spy, are you? Not like us, it is."

"I would not approve of it in any other circumstance, but these are times of war. What choice do we have?"

"But who will do it?" A moment of silence envelops the room.

"Skywalker. You are close to the Chancellor-"

 _No._ Anakin pleads. _No, no, no-_

"Oh, no."

He whips his head in her direction, shocked into speechlessness for the first time in his life. Her head is shaking.

"Spying on a prominent and well-respected figure of the Senate will take an objective character, devoid of any attachments to its subject. He is _too_ close to the Chancellor, the conflict of interest is too great. No good can come of this."

He should feel violated on every level; he should feel insulted that this stranger has picked apart a piece of himself and exposed it to the light. But all he feels is awed and grateful.

"Correct in her findings, Master Solam appears to be," Master Yoda states eventually. "Perhaps to take on the task herself, she would like?"

Anakin is still processing his emotions when Solam blinks once and says, "If that is your wish, Master Yoda."

Murmurs of assent echo through the room. Master Yoda shows the hint of a smile and replies, "Up to Young Skywalker, the final decision is."

Anakin feels eyes pressing onto him, but the only pair he sees are Solam's. Not for the first time in his life, he feels like a puzzle she has figured out; the piercing gaze she holds peeling back his layers until he has no secrets left. But there is something else in her stare, something gentle and maternal. The way his mother used to look at him as she tucked him into bed.

She frightens him.

He swallows and says, "She's right. She would be suitable for this job."

 

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He keeps an eye out for her, whenever he is with Palpatine, which is more often than usual. He seeks her out in the shadows, the corners, or in disguise. She proves too stealthy even for him. The paranoia of her lurking behind him and Palpatine almost feels unfounded.

But sometimes, he feels an unusual rush of calm, as if nothing in his life isn't spiraling out of control, as if his secret wife isn't pregnant with secret babies, as if the Jedi Order doesn't feel half as suffocating, as if Obi-Wan is the mentor he wishes he was. These waves of peace confuse him. They don't come from his own tortured spirit, but rather, from another source, with a strong connection to the Force. Stronger, even, than him.

 

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One day, he is desperately walking to the meditation room to calm himself after a fight with Padmé. He hasn't heard from Obi-Wan in three days. He hates that he is not fighting General Grievous with his Master. He hates that Palpatine is feeling less and less like a friend and more like the manipulative shrew his wife claims he is. He is tired, frustrated, overworked and under-appreciated. He needs to breathe now before he explodes.

Bursting unceremoniously into the room, he is stopped short at the sight of Master Solam, levitated many feet off the ground, her back to him. Out of breath and caught off guard, Anakin is at a loss for the proper words. This is not how any Jedi has ever meditated.

"Come join me." Her voice is quiet but firm.

 _Join you? Up there?_ He wonders incredulously.

 _Yes, up here,_ comes an answer through the Force, right before Solam speaks from above, "Don't pretend you can't do it. I sense your presence in the Force from miles away."

The stress of the week forgotten, Anakin dazedly takes off his robe. Stretching his fingers, he lets the Force course through his fingers like he always wanted, and feels his body rising up, up, up until he is floating behind her.

They don't speak until his heart rate slows.

"The force is strong with you," he offers.

Slowly, Solam rotates until she is facing him. Her hair is tucked behind her ears today, revealing a jagged scar on the left temple. It is the first flaw he finds in her.

"It seems I'm not the only one," Solam observes. "How long have you trained with this strength?"

"None at all. I've had it since I was born."

"Oh, I know _that."_ Her tone is amused. "That's why you're the Chosen One. How long have you _trained_ with this strength?"

Anakin swallows. "Thirteen years."

"Mm. And do you feel you have complete control over it?"

"Yes, I do," he answers a bit defensively.

Solam's good nature is hardened by an unknown emotion. "Then you have failed."

Anger flares in his chest. "Excuse me?"

"The Force is not an untamed animal to be domesticated, catering to your every beck and call. It has a mind of its own, a will of its own, and it will decide who it trusts most with its power. You do not _control_ anything; you wield it, you manage it, you learn from it." A lump forms in the back of Anakin's throat as she continues, "That is the unspoken rule in understanding the Force-realize that you can never understand it all. You do the best you can to learn, and you work from there."

Solam stretches her arms over her head and her legs straight out in front of her. She closes her eyes, looking content, and arches her back.

By some miracle, he finds his voice again. "The Jedi have never spoken of the Force in that way."

"Of course not." She is lowering down to the ground, prepared to be sprawled out on the floor. "That would require letting go of what they hold dear. Not a soul alive can do that overnight."

 

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They meditate together regularly. In a halted, unwilling voice, he asks her questions about her missions, which she summarizes guardedly. He tries not to ask about Palpatine, and she only offers, "Keep your eyes open." He speaks to her (vaguely) about dreams and visions; she understands, more than she lets on. He speaks to her about Obi-Wan, about Yoda, about Qui-Gon, about being the Chosen One. Rarely does she reply; she doesn't need to. She merely listens and sends calm.

One day, he brings up his frustration with the Jedi Order. She perks at his tirade about their rules and constraints, and their unwillingness to change and grow.

"They don't trust me," he finishes, almost spitting with anger.

"Should they?"

Her voice is relaxed, a juxtaposition to the fire he feels in response.

"Excuse me?" he surges back from the air and lands so hard on the ground his knees nearly give way.

Solam stays above him. "Have you followed every protocol, every rule, every guideline? Have you told them everything they need to know, everything that has troubled you, things that you _know_ in your heart could put you in danger?"

"I have been the best Jedi I could be!" Anakin insists. "You and I both know I'm more powerful than any of them! I deserve-"

"When you _deserve_ the trust of another, you have done all you can to _earn_ it," she cuts across sternly. "And you _earn_ it by proving yourself to be trustworthy." Solam asks the next question as if she knows the answer. "Have you proven yourself trustworthy?"

He doesn't have the courage to answer her directly; it is too simple to let his anger take him back up in the air, so he can look her square in the eye and say something, do something to ensure she will never speak to him that way again.

But far from looking fearful, Solam's face takes on a mirthless smirk. "You can't tell. . .you're wobbling, for the first time since we've floated together."

He opens his mouth to spit fire, but his body jolts, as if trying to stop a fall. The shock of this misstep silences him.

She lowers herself down to the ground, picks up her robe, drapes it around her shoulders without looking up at him. "Shame. You know you're better than this."

 

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It's a week and a half before he can face her again. She does not acknowledge his absence, only nods at his return.

 

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In the early morning, he strolls into the meditation room, caught between two dominating emotions-love and frustration. The night before, he had spent laying his wife down. Their coupling was the most tender and emotionally overwhelming yet, but it was his only way of apologizing after a nasty fight.

Hours later, in this circular room with natural light spilling from all corners, Anakin's fists clench as tight as his heart. How could something so beautiful, so warm and gentle, so brilliant and dazzling, be anyone's downfall? How could the Jedi not see the glory where you love and be loved?

His mind barriers are down, his feelings are pouring into the Force, and a painful aura of passion surrounds him. He is so caught up in his emotions that he doesn't notice another presence enter the room.

"No attachments."

Anakin spins around, not bothering to wipe the tears off his face. Solam is standing stock-still, her expression revealing that she knows his greatest secret.

"You-you-"

"No attachments. _Attachments,_ Skywalker. Not bonds."

He doesn't understand, and he's no in the mood for puzzles. "You know nothing of what you speak. All they care about is the Force. They don't know of love, of family, or friends."

"And this love," she gestures to him, "this kind of love, is what is right?"

"It's all I have!" he roars, not caring who he awakens. "She is all I have! I eat, sleep and _breathe_ her. I would die without her! Those Jedi, they close themselves off to love, they'd never understand-"

"That. Is. Not. Love."

The force of her sudden glare sends him stumbling back. Her lips were pressed tightly together, her own hands were clenched, and a glint he had never seen before entered her eyes.

"That is co-dependency. Obsession. Attachment. This-all-consuming devotion leaves you breathless without a simple glimpse of them that day. You live for their sake and imagine they must live for yours. She is _all you have_ because you want her to be _yours,_ mind, body and soul. The day she walks away from you will leave you breathless. The day she passes from this earth will leave you unable to function. That is  _not_ love."

Solam's voice trembles as she takes a step closer to Anakin, who is rooted to the spot. "Love, true love, requires nothing of you. Love is selfless and kind. Love allows space to grow, alone and together. Love will leave you breathing after she is gone."

His knees may very well give out. He thought he'd grown used to Solam taking everything he had learned and believed and flipping it on its head, but this is too much. "I-I can't accept. . .death will take her love from me."

Solam grasps his shoulders tightly, willing him to look up from his feet. There is a hint of desperation in her tone now. "True love does not die when she does. You will feel her love long after her body fails her. And you can live on, knowing that you'll meet again one day."

And then, in the second it takes him to take a shuddering breath, Solam seems to realize she has exposed her own heart. She gathers herself, steps back, and breathes.

"I won't let her go," he mumbles. She shakes her head.

"There is nothing to let go of. She is not yours."

She is almost at the door when he asks, feebly, "Have _you_ loved? At all?"

Solam stops, but doesn't turn around.

"I have loved and lost. And I would change nothing."

 

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That night he goes home, lies on his back and has Padmé climb atop of him, begging her to take from him whatever she wants, as much as she wants, until they come together to a balance.

 

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"You are the only one, apart from me, who wears black," he says to her, as if he just noticed it now. They are sitting on the ground this time, facing each other with steady gazes.

Solam nods. "Yes...I noticed when we met. You like the color more?"

He's learned not to look away when she tells him about himself. "It soothes me...the night, the leather, velvet...darker colors."

He is sure she feels the question before he verbalizes it. "Does that make me evil?"

Solam cocks her head to the side. He senses a great deal of calculated caution from her, and wonders what needs such careful wording.

Finally, she replies, "The potential for evil I sense in you has nothing to do with your clothing choice. Many have worn brighter and hated harder than you and I."

A few weeks ago, he would not have heard much past, "The potential for evil I sense in you." A few weeks ago he would have let his anger overtake him. Now, he has a confidant to empty his soul into.

"I'm not the Jedi I should be," he confesses. "I want more, and I know I shouldn't. I don't know who to trust. Not the Council, the Senate. My teachings, my dreams. Not even Obi-Wan." His shoulders sag. "I feel as though no one truly cares about me...except Padmé. I know where this can lead. I don't know what I can do about it."

A pregnant pause ensues as the two Jedi continue to stare into the other's eyes, the power of the Force writhing around them like an impenetrable shield.

"I had a Master, once," Solam begins, a cryptic edge to her voice, "She took great care to obtain me as her Padawan. She said she saw something in me the others didn't have. I felt pride where I shouldn't have. She was strict and by-the-book, whilst I was eager to fly free and above every law. Even when I knew she was right, I defied her, denied her. I must have caused thousands of wrinkles and gray hairs for her. I was sure she couldn't wait to be rid of me, that she...regretted me. It was only when I had to watch her die that I realized she would do it all again, for me." Solam blinks rapidly, and Anakin fights to keep a straight face under the wave of pain the Force sends him.

"Jedi don't get to love their own children. But they raise others. Only a truly detached soul can guard another, from birth to adulthood, and walk away unmarked." She leans forward. "Ask yourself, Skywalker. What do you sense in Obi-Wan, as it pertains to his feelings for you?"

But he has already searched his memories, while she'd been talking. He's drawn similarities between his and her Master. He's thought of Obi-Wan's infuriating rules and guidelines, his harsh scolding, his constant scrutiny, and the untouched layer of fear behind all of them, a layer Anakin has been too stubborn to touch. The force has held the answer underneath a childish boy's pride.

"He's not jealous. He wants me to be a Master. He's scared that I won't make it that far if I'm not careful. He's done everything he could...for me."

"Is that not love?" her question is an answer.

"Is it not an attachment instead?" He knows it's a pointless jab, but old habits die hard.

Solam sighs, leaning back. "His love requires neither your submission nor your reciprocation. It is _his_ to hold, to wield as a strength rather than a weakness. If he deemed it necessary, he would die for you, or kill you, to save you. It is a true guardian's love. The only one allowed here."

 

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He sends a hologram message to Obi-Wan, wishing him well on his mission, implying they have much to talk about when he returns, thanking him for his most annoying lectures, and finally, reminding his master in no uncertain terms that he, Anakin, has never felt more safe, more loved than when he was Obi-Wan's padawan. "May the Force be with you. . .brother."

 

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Before the Council Meeting urgently called by Solam, she herself catches Anakin in the hall.

"Skywalker," she says, with a level of urgency he has never heard from her before, "I wanted to tell you before I tell _them."_

"What? What is it?"

"I found the Sith."

"You have? Well...why are you telling me?"

"Because you'll need more time to believe it."

 

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During the Council Meeting, he stands next to her, numbly recounting his experiences with Palpatine, the confusion and torment ignited within him over the past few weeks, based on his former friend's oily praise and silken promises. Solam provides details of his plans, set in motion 13 years ago with the Separatists, from the attacks on Amidala's life to the clone army to the search for a new apprentice. Palpatine was never Palpatine, he was Sidious masked by the Senate.

Mace Windu commends Anakin on his ability to separate his emotions from reasoning. Yoda peers at him through his wide eyes and says nothing.

Anakin is vaguely aware of being dismissed after discussions of an arrest are resolved. He rushes out of the room, leaving everyone behind. Solam doesn't follow.

He is used to pain, suffering, evil, and death. He is not used to betrayal. He wonders what it feels like to heal from this. He thinks maybe he'll never know.

 

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It takes all the strength he has not to join Mace Windu in the arrest of Palpatine.

He still doesn't understand why he would be invited, despite their insistence that Anakin's compartmentalization means that he can handle the truth about Pal-Sidious and therefore would pose no threat to their proceedings.

It makes perfect sense, and it makes no sense at all.

He is not able to separate his emotions and his reasoning. He did not compartmentalize anything. It has taken hours upon hours with Solam in a tiny meditation room to even fathom control over his feelings. Facing Sidious right now would undo all of that fragile progress, and Anakin fears what it would cause.

"I would prefer to stay here, Master Windu, but I am thankful for your offer."

He prides himself on holding out on temptation.  He hates himself for it, too.

 

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A sharp disturbance in the force rips him away from Padmé's arms and as fast as he can to the Jedi Temple.

Kit Fisto is standing outside, lightsaber activated. Other Masters and Knights are standing a few meters apart from each other in a fighting stance. Anakin is winded by fear.

"What's happened?"

"We were too late," says one of the Jedi helplessly. "We felt a disturbance...he would not come quietly-if Windu had survived-would have killed him-Palpatine escaped-"

" _Sidious_ has issued an order for all the clones to kill every Jedi in sight," Fisto cuts across. "All over the galaxy, we are under attack. We have sent out warnings. We are standing guard. It has begun."

A fresh wave of horror engulfs him. " _Obi-Wan-"_ he gasps. "What of Obi-Wan?"

"We don't know."

It's too much. The loss of his mother, the potential loss of his wife, and now the impending loss of his only true friend, the friend who had never left his side even as he pulled away, in his childishness and ungratefulness. His hand itches toward his lightsaber, ready to kill something, anything-

"We intercepted a message indicating that the Separatists are waiting for the Sith on the planet Mustafar," Kit Fisto informs him. "We can only hope that he won't come back before the younglings have been evacuated."

Separatists.

Separatists.

The ones who were responsible for this whole mess. The ones who, thirteen years ago, made a deal with the devil for power and remained steadfast ever since. The ones who helped Sidious buy out the Senate and exert his influence illegally.

The ones who tried to kill Padmé.

There is nothing else to do but take off running, tendrils of fearful rage lapping at his soul like fire and lava.

 

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Anakin is watching himself from above, like somehow his mind and soul have left his body, but his body keeps moving, possessed by some unknown entity. It walks purposefully off the ship, leaving Artoo behind and pulling his hood over his head.

It enters the operating room where the Separatists are waiting, where they look up in confusion at this intruder who is not their Lord Sidious.

It uses the Force to shut down all means of escape.

It pulls out its lightsaber.

It cuts through Droids and Neimoidians like butter knives through butter. Whirling his weapon with unnecessary flourish and flair, stabbing hearts and slashing throats with frightening ease.

It ignores the pleading and protests of its victims. It ignores the teaching of the Jedi. It embraces the billowing darkness that has lingered, waiting for all these years to strike at the iron at its hottest.

There are still more bodies to slice apart when another, frighteningly strong presence makes itself known through the Force. For a moment, it could be Sidious-except the essence of this energy feels not quite dark, although not purely light either.

Anakin is paralyzed, helpless, as something akin to evil turns his head around to exit the room. His vision- _its_ vision-is tainted red.

 

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Anakin takes enough control of his body to run outside in search of his new visitor. He lets out strangled gasp when he recognizes who it is.

"What are you doing here?"

Solam is wide-legged in her stance, regarding him with a cold resignation. "I could ask you the same thing. Although I think I've found my answer already."

Shame and resistance well up in his core, but the voice that responds is not his. "You know what they are, Solam, they are the _reason_ for this war!"

"Were you even meant to come here?"

He despises her for knowing the answer. "I was _meant_ to bring peace to the galaxy! By any means!"

"You are not speaking like a Jedi."

"Since when you do you request that I speak like a Jedi?" His voice has lowered to a hiss.

"Since when do  _you_ speak like a Sith?" Solam retorts, the last word dripping from her lips like venom.

That's when Anakin takes a moment and truly _sees_ Solam. Her dark copper skin is illuminated in the fire. Every muscle is tense as if she is prepared for battle. In one hand, she holds her lightsaber, not yet activated. In her other hand, something cloudy and ominous spins in her palm, not dark or light, but somewhere in the middle. Her face is pale and shadowy, her hair whipping around her head, and her eyes-

No.

It can't be.

 _"You,"_ Anakin roars, holding his hand up, not thinking about what he will do to her, just knowing it has to hurt.

Solam's hand holding the cloud rises at once, and his shock is deflected-no, absorbed, into her own hand, which rests as a fist by her side.

"How-how-" Anakin splutters. "How can _you_ be-"

"Do not _ever,"_ Solam interrupts, her voice low and hoarse with foreboding, "in your _life_ assume such a thing of me. I am many things, but I am no Sith.  I am not the Great Sith Lord.  And I am not what claimed the souls on this planet."

"I-"

"Haven't you learned anything?" Disappointment laces her words now. "Has any of our meetings taught you _nothing?"_ Solam sighs, raising her still unactivated lightsaber in preparation. "Spar with me."

"I-what?" He teeters on the moment of truth, and she requests a casual game between colleagues.

"Anakin," Solam breathes, and the yellow in her eyes melts into gold. "Spar with me. Now."

The two halves of Anakin Skywalker seem to realize what she means. Sparring is the last thing on her mind; she is offering him an outlet for the darkness that will else no casualties. She is giving him a chance to exhaust the demon within, upon an opponent who can take him.

His uncertainty, his fear, and his distrust are feeble against his natural instincts. His hand grips the lightsaber and activates. Shocking blue.

Solam throws her robe aside and grips her lightsaber with both hands, activating it.

Shocking light.

 

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A squared off section of his brain observes the duel with mild interest. The constant clash of light, the wind in their hair, the sweat dripping down his temple, the tightness of her face-it all holds his attention.

He briefly notes that they are twins. She matches his leather with her own, cut exactly the same. He also notes that she alternates between a defensive style, blocking his every attack, and an aggressive style, spinning around and forcing him backwards with the speed of her lunges. He notes that her eyes have a habit of changing between the stormy color he's known and the golden-yellow he's just met. Sometimes his own vision is tinted in scarlet, and he doesn't want to know why.

And he notes that he has never felt more turmoil during a duel in his life.

 

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"You're not a Jedi," he shouts, pushing his lightsaber against hers, even as hers stays in place, unwilling to lower.

"And I'm not a Sith."

"I see it in your eyes, Solam! You are as dark as I am!"

Her lips curl into a sneer. "Then why am I still at peace?"

And here is the conundrum: her entire aura suggests a sense of calm, even as darkness storms within her.

Solam takes his pause as an invitation, swinging his lightsaber away, she goes on the offense.

"Darkness and light live in all of us," she declares over the sparks flying. "It is we who decide which one to feed."

He throws himself forward, attempting to upset her flow, but she blocks him easily. "The Jedi say, 'Embrace only the light.' The Sith say, 'Embrace only the darkness.' To do either one is against our nature."

He is blocking and attacking with precision, but her voice feels more real than the aching in his limbs, and he may be losing the fight. "What are you saying?!"

"You _cannot_ have one without the other!"

She jumps backward, the Force steadying her as she perches atop the tower, where the battle has taken them.

"They walk hand-in-hand within all of us! Denying one is denying our very selves! Neither should consume you, neither should be ignored!"

"So you embrace the darkness?"

"The darkness resides in me, whether I embrace it or not! The _choice_ is all I can embrace!"

Anakin's legs are shaking with the strain of keeping his feet grounded, while his own darkness, his own light, engage in a battle to the death. " _What are you?"_

He can _see_ the energy surrounding her, in torrents of black and white, blue and grey, yellow and red, and she is both terrifying and beautiful.

"I am darkness and light. I am the balance. I am the grey."

 

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The energy envelops both of them. Her golden irises blaze through the smoke as he feels himself being lifted up, up, across, and lowered back down again.

When the Force recedes, they are back on stable ground, in front of his ship. The remaining Separatists have escaped. There is no sign of the Sith Lord. She has deactivated her lightsaber, and is watching him anticipatively.

He doesn't have the strength left to speak. The only coherent thoughts crossing his mind involve her: how powerful she looks, how peaceful she feels, how wise she truly is.

 _Sleep,_ a voice says inside his head. _Close your eyes...let go...sleep..._

His knees give way just as Solam catches him around the mid-section. "Hold on," she says, pulling him towards his ship. "I've got you."

 

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He is not asleep, but he is not awake either. He can't remember how he got here, on his back, with Artoo and Solam standing by him. Her eyes are back to greyish-black, warm and forgiving. He feels like crying.

"We are heading back to Coruscant," she tells him quietly. "Artoo programmed our destination. When you are safely back home, I will go to the Temple. "

He licks his lips and croaks, "Obi-Wan...find Obi-Wan."

She nods, but adds, "You will know if he is gone. You will feel it. Have faith."

"S-sidious-"

"Never came. Another time, we will find him."

His metal hand rises up before she can turn away; he's not sure what part of her he reaches for, but he ends up grabbing her shoulder. She doesn't move.

"Santhie. . ."

There are many things he wishes to tell her. Like how he still doesn't understand what she is, but how eager he is to learn more. How everything in his life has been broken and rebuilt since she entered it. How she has pushed past his faults and found seeds of calm to plant inside. How she has slipped into the role of a mother that he has missed out on for ten years. How she has saved him from himself, with great risk and effort. How she is now family, and he will gladly guard her life with his own if need be.

He doesn't have the breath to say it all.

Sometimes, speaking through the Force is not enough.

"Thank you."

A warm hand rests atop his forehead, above the jagged scar. He squeezes her shoulder weakly. They allow the silence to ground them in this moment, the last moment of quiet before the storm hits.

"Sleep, Anakin. You will be home soon. Your children are waiting."

The purest of smiles grace his lips as he finally allows fatigue to work its magic. His hand slips from her shoulder. Her hand stays on his head.

 

ø

 

He dreams of nothing. Of simple, soothing darkness.

 

ø

 

**Author's Note:**

> Read and review and the Force will be with you!


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